How to Skin a Cat
by Phoenix Satori
Summary: In which Natsume is Seriously Annoyed. Repeatedly. [allusions to Natsukan, a peppering of Ruru]
1. Tsubasa Part I

I decided this one should come before Hotaru's interrogation.

So.

Yeah?

Yeah.

Standard disclaimers apply n' sht.

**Summary**: Tsubasa and Natsume are trapped. Wait until you find out where. (Can anyone say 'hackneyed?')

* * *

"I suppose this is one of those situations where I'm supposed to give you some friendly advice, and then later we bond and you realize I'm not so very terrible, after all. And _I_ come to the conclusion that really, at heart, you're a good guy." The silence was not so much uncomfortable as it was vaguely frightening, largely because at the close of Tsubasa's speech, Natsume had produced a ball of fire warningly in one palm, and being the only light in a broom closet full of dark, it threw his angular features into sharp relief and made a dishearteningly demonic cast of the younger boy's face. "Uh…but maybe not."

"I'm going to _kill_ that child." Natsume growled, his raised hand closing in a tight fist that snuffed out his flaming palm.

"Oh, come now, Natsume-kun, little Sana-chan doesn't know any better. She's still growing into her power, and hasn't quite gotten a handle on controlling just yet. Why, I remember when _I_ was still learning to control _my_ alice; I used to walk across another person's shadow without realizing it and I'd end up tripping them up or running them into walls or—"

"Shut. Up." Natsume prdered tersely, and there were sparks in the darkness that had Tsubasa obeying immediately, nary without a thought.

For a time, silence pervaded the enclosed space, and while one boy crossed his arms and stewed mutely, the other attempted to explore the contents of the closet, as unobtrusively and quietly as possible.

In the few years the other boy had had to grow (nearly a full head above _him_, he thought grudgingly) –both mentally and physically—Natsume had apparently not developed a fondness for perfectly amiable loquacity. It was vexing, really, Tsubasa mused; he'd had the opportunity to view Natsume in good humour once or twice, and he'd discovered that the younger boy certainly had the capacity to be quite endearing –charming, even. But his disposition was such that –even _after_ loosing Persona's hold on him (thanks in large part to the efforts of a Certain Someone Natsume even _now_ refused to acknowledge properly)—he was perpetually struggling to assimilate.

Tsubasa contemplated Natsume's plight as his fingers brushed the dry, grimy tip of something he hoped was mop fringe and not Something Else Entirely, and he wondered if there weren't something, perhaps, that he could do to help the younger boy along. Something small, maybe just a tiny nudge in the right direction…

Several moments later, Tsubasa brightened as something occurred to him. He started chuckling softly, but his mirth eventually became too much to contain, and it gradually bubbled over into full-blown laughter.

Natsume scowled into the dark space and considered the possibility that the older boy (these days plying him to call him Tsubasa-_sensei_ to echo earlier supplications for the fire weilder to address him as _senpai_, as he'd been doing assistant-teacher-type work for Nodachi more recently and thought that that entitled him –at long last—to some respect…but that was something Natsume was just _not_ willing to offer) was claustrophobic, or particularly afraid of the dark, and had lost his –likely only fleeting, tenuous—grip on sanity, and was now decidedly losing his mind in the tiny space.

His luck was really just _unbelievable_. So far today he'd been ambushed by a bubbly, vacuous, spiral-pantied, smiling moron _three times_ (despite his best efforts to avoid her –really, his _very best_ efforts), been threatened cryptically by Imai Hotaru (something about abduction and chains), and been assigned clean-up duty for his class --something he had eagerly attempted to escape, which had turned out, ultimately, to be a most unfortunate decision and, incidentally, the very beginning of what was to end in tragedy.

He had managed to cover quite a lot of ground in the three or four minutes he'd used to escape classroom duties and was halfway to the dormitories; he could glimpse the courtyard separating the academy from the living area from the window in the hall. And then, unexpectedly, he had run across a two-foot-tall, cherry-bobbed, child-gone-horribly-_horribly_-wrong at approximately the same time the Shadow Freak happened to be whistling his way down the hall, obliviously cheerful until a misstep sent him lurching forward in the direction of the now-screaming child, who held her hands out instinctively as Natsume used the same instant to rush toward her, almost automatically, to try and get her out of the way, and then there was a flash of light—

--and apparently, according to Andou's surprisingly pedantic information, the little child had, as a response to her surprise and fright, ripped a hole in the fabric of the space the three of them had occupied previously, because now he and Tsubasa were trapped in a broom closet that had _not_ existed a moment prior, in the middle of the hallway, no less, where the door could be observed by outside passers-by, but not the area behind it, where Natsume and the other boy were making the acquaintance of musty-lemony odours and old brooms and mops.

Apparently, Tsubasa had explained, the little girl –"Sana-chan," he'd called her—had been thrown in with Andou's lot due both to the ridiculousness of her alice (which Natsume _still_ didn't entirely understand) and because they really just didn't know where else to put her.

And now there was –quite definitively—no way out, as Natsume had discovered when he'd tried to blow the door down –twice, and to Tsubasa's ardent protests; something about futility—and ended up only scorching it slightly. In the midst of all this, Natsume had resolved firmly that he would never attempt altruism again, however infinitesimal the task involved happened to be. Because, frankly, he had no earnest desire to be confined in such close quarters with this moron _ever again_.

Meanwhile, Tsubasa seemed to be riding out the last wave of his hysterics (the young boy silently heaved a sigh of relief), and Natsume figured that now, in the gap between the insanity, he might be able to deduce whether or not his company had perhaps stumbled upon a spot of brilliance and uncovered the key to their freedom.

"I hope your idiotic giggling means you've figured out how we're getting out of here." He groused. Tsubasa's grin gleamed maliciously, even in the dark.

"Oh, but have I." He shared, and then was silent.

After several moments more of seething in quiet, Natsume barked,

"Well?" The grin widened.

"Are you _sure_ you're up for it?" Natsume's rejoinder ignited in the palm of his hand. "I see." Tsubasa's confidence wavered. He cleared his throat and reasserted it. "Well, Natsume-kun. I'm fairly certain that we have to have...a _conversation_."

"A conversation." Natsume repeated, deadpan.

"Yep. As in, you, me, talking, with words that don't involve threats of burning violence."

There was a very long pause, indeed, following this assertion.

"I think you should explain what the _hell_ this is all about." Tsubasa winked, glad for the light provided, at least, from the flame still flickering menacingly in Natsume's hand.

"Well. Sana-chan's alice is unique because, while she controls the set-up, locale, and persons involved, she has no influence over when the scenario ends. _We_ get to determine that." He paused, thinking over his next words carefully. "Older students have taken to calling her…exceptional…power the 'convenient plot device' alice, because those who fall victim to it typically need to reach some significant sort of understanding. Part of it's a subconscious conclusion we must reach within ourselves, but part of it is also a matter of comprehending what issues need resolution between the two parties involved. There's not _always_ something needing to _be_ resolved, however, and in cases involving, say, two people who've never met before or have only spoken casually, all it may take is a simple introduction before they're released. Or, if there're two people caught up in her alice who are the best of friends, or are dating, or are simply on very amicable, pleasant terms, they may be released immediately.

"Clearly, you and I have some unresolved issues. Or one of us does, at the very least." The latter part of this statement was attached to a very peculiar tone of voice that had Natsume furrowing his brows gravely at the other boy. "That doesn't mean we have to learn to like each other or anything, though that might work, also…" He lifted a finger to his chin thoughtfully and considered the ceiling for a few seconds. "The main idea is that something significant has to happen, Natsume-kun. And I figure the best way to go about said something significant is to talk about some things. One or both of us –I'm not entirely sure—has to reach a profound conclusion. Or, if not that, at least an acknowledge something we've been trying to push away or suppress for a very long time…"

Something foreign was roiling about in Natsume's stomach. He ignored it and focused instead on directing the safer, more familiar vehement rage at Tsubasa.

"So." Natsume said, finally. "A conversation."

"Yes, sir."

"That's it."

"...essentially, yes. That's it. Unless…" Natsume's eyes flickered with interest at the prospect of an alternative.

"Yes? Unless?" Natsume prompted, impatient.

"Well, unless you'd rather just make-out. I figure that'd be pretty significant."

* * *

Part II coming SOON!!

(maybe)

(hopefully)

(this was actually kind of...disappointing...this ficlet leaves a bad taste in my mouth.)

(there are tense issues and misplaced monikers and too many commas and awkwardly-placed hypens and parentheses and plot holes and oh, by the jeebus, i need a beta.)

(and...you know, better story ideas.)

(yarg.)

(also. "Sana-chan" is a frighteningly hyper-active, freak amalgamation of Kurata Sana from Kodocha --kickin' it _old school_-- and that adorable little death-machine, Yachiru, from Bleach. Squeeze them together --with many a repulsive squishing-type noise, and perhaps some particle-squelching-- and you have some notion of the horror I have imagined for the rabid child who catalyzed the broom closet. Don't ask about the alice. I couldn't think of anything better.)


	2. Hotaru

Hotaru grills Natsume.

Natsume is petulant.

Hooray!

AN: I'm just going to let you know that while I allude heavily to Natsume/Mikan, there is no explicit reference to either his feelings for her or to any potentiality of an impending relationship. You'll just have to make your own inferences.

I can't imagine that either Hotaru or Natsume would ever _really_ be able to hold a straight-forward conversation, most especially when it comes to the girl who perpetually throws them off-kilter. Which made this a difficult exercise, actually, because it just seems so on-face _out of character_ for them to be discussing Mikan.

But whatever.

_Someone_ has to break through to Natsume about his idiotic way of handling his feelings for Mikan, and if it's going to be anyone, then I figure Hotaru is best-suited for the job.

Because she's so damn _snarky_.

I should warn you that _nothing_ spoken between Natsume and Hotaru should be taken at face value. Double meanings and Innuendo are the name of the game.

(Also.

Written in an hour, not proofread. Prepare yourselves.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**How to Skin a Cat**

Natsume blinked erratically, a powerful spotlight fixed on his person and nigh blinding him as he gradually regained his faculties. Squinting and angling his head sharply, he could just make out the silhouette of the person responsible for having –he glanced down at himself suddenly and fought the very _un_-Natsume urge to blanch, or otherwise indicate his bewildered incredulity—_tied him to a chair_.

With _chains_.

Unnerved, though wholly unwilling to put such feelings on display, he made quick work of blanking whatever emotion may have unconsciously flitted across his face in the infinitesimal moment it had taken him to understand his situation, and he allowed a largely diffident –if not somewhat annoyed—expression to supplant it. Then, blinking against the harsh lighting in an attempt to discover some discerning object or person, he busied himself surreptitiously with twiddling the thumbs on his hands bound behind him, a single, focused thought igniting his alice in silent defiance of the Laws of the Natural Universe, the diminutive glowing bead dancing waywardly in the quiet space above his shackled hands. He shifted minutely in his seat, ostentatiously trying to get a better vantage to peruse his immediate surroundings, though in actuality he was tilting the tiny flame more directly toward the metal bonds.

He grimaced when he realized it was going to be necessary to turn the heat up quite a lot to make any substantive progress in melting the metal into anything malleable enough to allow him a chance for escape. Whoever was responsible for his current captivity obviously knew with whom they were dealing.

Biting his lip, Natsume focused on the impression of the flickering fire at his fingertips, carefully filtering the image over with the most intense blue he could envisage—

"Natsume." The flames blinked out of existence in his surprise, as he realized in the wake of that horribly neutral (though somehow still also condescendingly sophisticated and elegantly mellifluous) voice that his captor was none other than—

"Imai." He growled softly. "What the fu—"

"I wouldn't recommend using your alice." She interjected blithely, bland insouciance shading her tone. "I assure you that even _you_ would have difficulty breaking those chains, and you'll only waste your energy and agitate your condition, besides. If you'll sit quietly and cooperate when necessary, this shouldn't take longer than a few excruciating moments, and then you'll be free to go." While he mulled briefly over whether or not he should be feeling morbidly terrified, severely annoyed, or deeply affronted, he felt his brow ascend before he had a proper chance to stop it, and glared to cover up the lapse. "You've been doing that a lot lately." Hotaru observed cryptically. When his only response was to blink twice, rather more quickly than usual, "Slipping up, I mean." He heard the strangely melodic tinkling of what was probably very fine china as –he assumed—she set aside a cup of tea.

"Is the spotlight really necessary?" He wondered absently, irritation leaking through his curling lip.

"I think it adds a nice effect." She confessed, but switched it off, anyway. When the final blotchy, apparition-like after-images of the light had at last faded, he observed that he was in –what looked to be—a very poorly-lighted laboratory, directly across from the bane of his existence's best friend.

Who, as if on cue, gingerly raised a face-down glossy photograph from her lap for him to behold, and his eyes flickered briefly with a heat not entirely unlike the one he'd attempted to harness earlier.

This was suddenly so much worse than blackmail, he mused darkly, unable to tear his gaze away from the obnoxiously smiling face in the picture, despite his best efforts to throw it elsewhere –_anywhere_ else. He supposed it couldn't matter too much in the end, anyway. Hotaru was shrewd enough to understand that his avoidance of the glossy was just as telling as his keen scrutiny of it.

"We're graduating in four weeks," She said evenly. She held up four fingers to illustrate the point, and then the game was set.

He understood now what this was all about, and he found himself silently agreeing that it _was_ going to be an especially excruciating few moments. Perhaps the longest of his life.

"I'll be happy to get away." He rejoined, just as coolly. Quietly, she lowered one finger, and he narrowed his eyes at her, glowering.

"Plans for the future?" The silent depth of her question caught him off-guard, and it took him several ponderous seconds to answer.

When finally he did,

"Keep away from ugly idiots," was what he settled upon, and even _he_ felt that his reply lacked the same subtle finesse the girl before him had mastered.

Still, quietly, pointedly, she lowered a second finger.

"And Ruka-kun?" He _hated _Imai, he realized. Not with the same violent, almost mindless abhorrence with which he had reviled Persona, of course, but somehow he found himself likening the ferocious hostility he had –until now—reserved exclusively for that dark man to what he was feeling for panty-girl's best friend.

"Ruka's moving on to bigger and better things." She nodded once, curtly. "He tells me that these days he's rather fond of _technology_." For an instant, he managed to drag his gaze away long enough to behold the minute colouring of her cheeks, and the creeping surprise in her dark violet eyes.

He smirked cruelly and she dropped another finger in retaliation.

"Will you miss it?" His brows creased in aggravated confusion, and she amended her question. "The Academy, I mean." It took longer than it should have to reply in the negative. "You're slipping again." She noted smoothly, and he felt his teeth grinding. She leaned forward slightly, and he thought –insanely—that he saw some raw emotion there in the set of her shoulders, in the taut line of her jaw, but he couldn't identify what it was. "I'm sure the Academy will miss _you_. Even though you're selfish and cruel and stupid. Probably only because the Academy's stupid, also, though." His eyes alighted once more on the effervescent subject of the photo. Then, almost as an afterthought, "You were made for each other, really." And then he didn't even _try_ to stop the surprise from flashing across his face.

"What are you—"

"You and the Academy, I mean." She repeated, something like a wry expression transforming her features.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." He snapped, glaring at her with as much ire as he could muster.

Hotaru leaned back in her seat and shook her head disapprovingly. And then elegantly, she tucked her final finger into the curved cradle of her fist, and thereafter returned the photograph to its face-down position on her lap. With no other choice, he leveled his gaze once more on her.

"It's strange how quickly time flies by." She remarked. Then fluidly, she stood, her shadow looming over him imposingly. "Despite the Academy's many, many, _many_ flaws, it's important to me." He saw grim, uncompromising determination in her eyes, and he marveled at the show of emotion. "And if you do anything to harm it, or something equally as stupid and thoughtless as leaving it to forever wonder what it was to you, you will regret it." Somehow, the monotonous, utterly controlled way she threatened him was _much_ more frightening than he would ever willingly admit. She blinked at him, and had he been anyone other than who he was, he suspected he would have shrunk in on himself unconsciously. As it was, that infinitesimally meaningful, involuntary gesture made him feel very, very small. "I see that we understand one another. Consider carefully, but think quickly. Time is short."

It wasn't until she reached up with one hand to flick the purple switch on the black device in her other that he even realized she'd produced the object at all, but by then it was far too late to do anything about it—not, of course, that he'd had many options with which to work, anyway.

And then, the last thing he recalled before his world turned black was Imai, _smiling_. That alone would have been enough to send him hurtling into shocked oblivion, but whatever it was she'd had in her hand was already doing the job quite nicely.

* * *

OMAKE!

Ruka had just about given up searching the immediate perimeter of the clearing; assuming that Natsume had wanted to get away badly enough to have somehow managed to avoid detection in only a few short seconds, and to have covered several hundred completely sparse feet in the same amount of time to enable such an escape, he doubted seriously that he'd find his friend skulking about along the line of trees surrounding their temporary hideaway, but it had seemed a worthwhile endeavor at first. It was his first experience with a spontaneously-disappearing-person (Nodachi excluded, naturally, but that didn't count), and he thought that, under the circumstances, he was handling himself rather admirably.

Kneeling, he beckoned forth a nearby field mouse and affectionately explained that he was giving up the search for now, but that he was eternally grateful for the help the little creature and its family had provided. The blushing rodent scampered away with a final, parting pat on its tiny head, and Ruka brushed himself off as he climbed sullenly to his feet, and turned—

--only to nearly be crushed by his best friend, who had literally materialized out of thin air and then fallen –what looked to be rather painfully—to the ground.

"Natsume! Are you alright?!" He exclaimed, feeling stupid and silly for not having anything better to offer the boy who'd just fallen from the sky.

And who was, he realized belatedly, unconscious and…wrapped in _chains_. He swallowed and looked about apprehensively for signs that _he_ was about to be abducted and made to endure whatever unthinkable horrors to which his friend had undoubtedly been subjected.

When Natsume groaned in what Ruka assumed was pain, however, the animal-pheromone-laden boy forgot his anxieties immediately in favour of dropping to his knee beside his friend to help in whatever way he could.

"N-natsume…? Are you…alright?" Lightly, Ruka brushed the darker boy's hair from his eyes to behold him as he regained cognizance.

"R…Ruka…" He wheezed, and the boy with the bunny wept within for his friend.

"What is it, Natsume? What can I do?" At last, the wielder of fire was focused exclusively on the blonde, and his red eyes burned with some unnamed fury. Ruka's brow furrowed in worry.

He'd failed. His best friend had been captured in less than a _second_, right _beside him_, and he'd done nothing but idly wander about, dispatching _field mice_ as a search party in absent indecision as to what he could possibly do to find the other boy. He'd failed and now Natsume hated him. He was sure of it.

"Natsume…" He fought back tears.

"Ruka," Natsume began, voice still somewhat hoarse, though he appeared otherwise fairly lucid and aware of himself. "I've said it before, but please allow me the small pleasure of informing you that your taste in women…" he coughed, grinned wickedly, "_really_ sucks."

::le fin::

* * *

Subtext, anyone?

I'm planning to eventually make this into a series; I'd like for there to be three, possibly even four different situations in which Natsume finds himself unable to escape a thorough interrogation on the subject of a one Mikan Sakura. I've already written some of a Tsubasa-Natsume conversation, and another scenario bouncing about in my head involves Koko very amiably holding a one-sided conversation with Natsume's mind.

We'll see what happens.


End file.
